


I Want You To Notice

by easilydistractedbyfanfic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background characters - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Cussing, F/M, If one thing had been different, In which Murphy is suffering from love at first sight and tries to convince himself otherwise, Murphy still isn't sure, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Smut, Tight Spaces, and then Raven makes it worse, or better, s1 canon divergence, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28552578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easilydistractedbyfanfic/pseuds/easilydistractedbyfanfic
Summary: Murphy isn't banished after the Charlotte disaster, and that means he's in camp when Raven lands among them. He's getting pretty good at watching her from afar, but then she singles him out to help her with a project that puts them into close quarters with each other and things are never going to be the same for him again.Based on a prompt via t100 Fic For BLM
Relationships: John Murphy/Raven Reyes
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56
Collections: If One Thing Had Been Different - A Raven/Murphy Collection, The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	I Want You To Notice

**Author's Note:**

> There's a fantastic collection going on with writers & creators in the t100 fandom who are accepting prompts for Black Lives Matter causes. Click on the collection linked above to read a lot more stories, and click on the following link to read more about the guidelines & how to submit a request of your own! [Check out the carrd here!](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co)
> 
> My thanks to the Anon OP who wanted an "enclosed space" Murven story, and my sincere thanks to @CarrieEve (on tumblr & ao3) for the moodboard that absolutely captures Murphy's S1 personality!  
> This story is heavily influenced by the song Creep by Radiohead, and the title is taken from it as well.  
> October through December is my busiest time of year with the family, so this has taken longer than I’d like and I hope it was worth the wait and meets your expectations, Nonnie!  
> I wanted to kick off 2021 with a completed fic, but I’ll be throwing myself back into my latest two WIPs next.  
> Wishing everyone a happier & healthier new year!

* * *

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/170152452@N02/50800307061/in/dateposted-public/)

_Whatever makes you happy_

_Whatever you want_

_You're so fuckin' special_

_I wish I was special_

_But I'm a creep_

_I'm a weirdo_

_What the hell am I doin' here?_

_I don't belong here_

_I don't belong here_

Creep ~ Radiohead

John Murphy glances around the messy camp set up around the shell of the Dropship with an expression of disdain as he takes in all the frenetic activity from his spot slouched against a large tree. 

He’d been naive, thinking that landing on Earth might provide him with a clean slate after years of imprisonment in the Sky Box. More than naive even, more like bordering on foolish, since hell no, he hadn’t gotten any such thing. At least on the Ark, he’d actually committed the crime he was punished for. But here? He hadn’t killed Wells but he’d been strung up for it anyway - almost died at the hands of a bunch of kids out for blood. And sure, maybe after that he’d been incredibly and righteously pissed off, stalking through the woods after Charlotte like a hunter seeking out prey. He wasn’t planning to hurt her so much as he just wanted some god-damned _justice_ for a change. But then she’d gone and thrown herself off a cliff and Bellamy and Clarke had freaked out and banished him, which was basically a death sentence in and of itself. Even Mbege had turned away from him, though Finn had shown a flash of compassion and left him a knife. Murphy had stood in the darkened forest as they’d all walked away, rage flowing through him along with a building sense of unease, but it had only been a few minutes of solitude when Clarke reluctantly returned with an apparent twinge of conscience, telling him that he could come back to camp on the condition that he wouldn’t leave the gates until they figured out what to do about everything. 

It wasn’t exactly a tough decision, all things considered. Sleeping behind the protection of a fence, shoddy though it was, and with a few people on guard to round it out was a helluva lot better than navigating the unknown territory of the forest on his own. So he’d followed, biting back the accusations that he wanted to hurl at Clarke over her own part in his hanging, and he’d isolated himself in the small tent he’d been using since they first landed, exhausted enough to fall into a quick and deep sleep in spite of his injuries and the tension that made him stiff and tender. 

He snorts under his breath a little, remembering it all now. Maybe his restraint at keeping his mouth shut was a sign he was maturing. Although that was laughable, really. Probably just his survival instincts kicking in once again. He wasn’t good at much, but he was beginning to think he had _that_ quality in spades at least. But whatever it was, he wasn’t sorry he’d managed to stay silent. If he hadn’t been allowed back inside the gates, he would have missed all the excitement that had occurred since he’d been un-banished. 

And other than a nasty gash on her forehead, that _excitement_ was looking mighty good in the blazing afternoon light as he watched her direct a few people around the camp. Raven Reyes. That was her name. The gossip seemed almost impossible to believe, but he’d heard Clarke and Bellamy arguing about it with his own ears - Raven had come down from the Ark, all by herself in a tiny little rocket, and fucking Bellamy had found her, unconscious and bleeding, and instead of making sure she was okay, he’d stolen and destroyed her radio to prevent the people on the Ark from coming down after them. 

Murphy shakes his head, mentally reviewing the heated words between the two de facto leaders as he’d strained to hear what they had to say. He’d gotten good at eavesdropping in the Sky Box, and if he was smart about it, he could use it to his advantage on the ground too. So far he’d learned plenty without even having to talk to anyone, although Mbege had made a few awkward attempts at conversation when he’d brought over some food, almost like a peace offering. Murphy couldn’t really blame his sort-of friend for not wanting to be banished along with him, but it still stung anyway. Enough that he doesn’t want to think about it any longer, so he directs his gaze once more to the dark ponytail that swishes distractingly in the breeze. 

It was damn fucking ballsy to climb into scrap metal and careen through space by herself, honestly. He admires that, especially since she doesn’t look the part. Oh, she does her best to cover it up and make herself appear tough, but there’s no denying that face of hers would look right at home on a fragile doll whose only job was to sit on a shelf and look pretty. Except in real life it seems she’s more predisposed towards glaring rather than smiling vacantly and waiting to be admired, but that was icing on the cake as far as he was concerned. Especially when she glares at Bellamy every chance she gets even though he’d eventually revealed where they could find the radio. Anybody other than him who’s also pissed off at Bellamy is basically a friend of his, right? And besides having that in common, she’s currently the only person in camp that didn’t have anything to do with his hanging, so he figures it’s no surprise his eyes and his thoughts keep wandering towards her as he bides his time and thinks about his options, propped against the tree trunk and scowling at anyone who dares look his way. 

Snippets of information reach his ears for most of the afternoon while everyone else scurries around like ants, primarily under Raven’s orders. She wants to fix the radio, to let the Ark know that survival is possible since they’re rapidly running out of air. It’s all very admirable and sincere and all of that other do-good shit, but Murphy doesn’t really give a damn. He’s got nobody on the Ark to care about, and certainly no one who cares about him. He wonders if he should mourn his loss of empathy, but then he traces his fingertip around the angry red welts along his neck and decides he’s getting a free pass on this one. 

The hours crawl by, and then the odor of charred meat taints the air, and it won’t be too long before the last meal of the day and darkness - before he once again retreats to his solitary tent, and he’d hoped to have a better plan in place for his next steps by now. Instead he’s spent half his day sidetracked every time she walks by, though she did serve to take his mind off the throbbing pain in his throat and the constant unrelenting headache he's had along with it. His entire body practically groaning in protest, he forces himself up and over to the communal water bucket for a drink, hoping no one speaks to him while he's there. He shouldn't have worried - everyone leaves him a wide berth or makes themselves scarce as he passes by, and that’s fine by him. Being ignored and even somewhat feared will probably be an easier path to walk even if he did entertain some delusional ideas about power and authority when he’d first landed on this planet. 

Which is why it’s all the more surprising when he hears a feminine voice calling out his name as he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and begins to stalk back towards his tree. 

“Hey! Murphy!” The voice pauses. “You are Murphy, right?”

He turns abruptly, but it isn’t until he eventually looks up that he spots her. Raven Reyes herself is looking down at him from the side of the Dropship, perched somewhat precariously on a rickety, narrow platform about twelve feet from the ground. She must notice his bewildered expression, because she smiles down at him with a soft laugh. 

“Yeah, I mean you. You look like you aren’t doing anything, and I need some help. Climb up.”

He flicks his eyes over the makeshift ladder leading to the scraps of wood and branches that frame out her tiny roost. There’s a panel on the Dropship that’s been loosened near her side, and she has a tool gripped in her hand. He wonders how she knows his name, and before he even makes up his mind whether or not to do what she wants, his feet are taking him towards her. 

The ladder doesn’t seem like it’ll hold his weight, let alone the thin plank she’s standing on, but her gaze is challenging and curious as she stares down at him, and for some reason he doesn’t want to disappoint her so he straightens his shoulders and steps gingerly onto the second rung, telling himself that it wouldn’t make sense for fate to let him escape a hanging only to be taken out by a mundane fall. 

Whether it’s luck finally on his side or not-as-shabby-as-they-look building skills, he survives the climb and is left awkwardly and precariously balanced near the top, unable to see how he’s supposed to help in any way since the scaffold is even smaller than it looked from the ground, with no room for him to stand next to Raven. She offers an explanation before he can even ask. 

“I know, it’s not exactly the best of working conditions. It got built in a rush. But I need some electrical pieces from the parts in this section, and even I can’t hold the panel up _and_ take out the components at the same time. I’d appreciate a hand.” She raises an eyebrow and he can feel her scrutiny increase. “It _is_ Murphy, right?”

“Guilty as charged,” he grunts, shifting his weight as the ladder wobbles. 

Glancing down towards the ground, he notices that the people who cleared out of his way when he’d gone for water have gotten back to their tasks, and once again the camp appears hard at work. A few heads look up inquisitively, probably imagining what kinds of trouble he’s going to cause now. Or maybe they’re as interested in Raven as he is, what with all the gossip that’s going around about her. This close, he can hear various bangs and clatters from the inside of the Dropship that probably stem from Jasper and Monty's efforts, and this close, she’s even more impressive than he first thought. So beautiful and capable he can barely look her in the eye. He doesn’t belong up here with her, but if he had anything to bet, he’d put it on the radio working sooner rather than later with her in charge. 

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’m thinking if you stand behind me, you should be able to reach over me and lift the edges of the panel high enough for me to lean in and get what I need.” Her lips twist into a knowing little grin and it does nothing to make him feel any more stable, both on the ladder and in his footing with her too. “You didn’t look busy, so I figured I’d ask.”

Even with her short hours on Earth, she has to have learned what went down with him and Wells and the knife and the rest of it, he’s sure. He places an uncertain step onto the precarious board she’s standing on, his eyes meeting hers for just a second before skittering away again. Maybe he should just focus on her cheek or something, to keep himself from getting weird. 

“From the looks of things, you don’t much mind living dangerously.”

Raven’s smile gets wider, more pleased, and he feels a little dumbstruck at the sight of it.

“What gave me away?” she asks, turning back towards the side of the Dropship so he can slide by her. Though it’s more like rubbing against her with the limited space. 

The platform is surrounded by a crude waist-high railing of branches, and he supposes it ought to make him feel more secure, but as he aligns himself behind her, their bodies nestled together by necessity, _secure_ is the last thing he feels. 

“Practically everything about you,” he informs her, his breath stirring the hair at the nape of her neck as he speaks. “Though you have to know that talking to me isn’t going to make you any friends in this camp.”

She was more than right about it being a tight squeeze, and with his chest pressed against her back, he’s not imagining the brief shiver that goes through her. He doesn’t fool himself with the idea that she’s overcome with attraction; not with what she’s undoubtedly heard about him, and not to mention the rough shape he’s in. From the feel of it he’s got a black eye, his neck is raw and still bloody, and besides, she looks like _that_. Still, he can tell it’s not a shudder of fear or revulsion at least, and that’s something of a win at this point in his life. Most likely her skin is just sensitive. It definitely looks soft. He wishes he could touch it and see. 

“I’m not here to make friends,” Raven announces, giving a particularly vicious twist to one of the remaining bolts holding the bottom of the large panel in place. The movement causes her hips to rock back into his, and once again he’s glad he didn’t erupt with any of the things he wanted to with Clarke on their trek out of the woods, because missing out on _this_ would be intolerable. 

“Why _are_ you here?”

Ignoring his question, she manipulates the bolt enough to raise the corner of the panel further, and then she reaches up to hidden hinges along the top of the piece of the Dropship until she can pop it out of place. 

“Here. Take the cover like this,” she directs, reaching down to his side to grab his left hand and place it onto the bottom of the panel edge. Her touch burns, but in a completely different way than he's used to. He follows suit on the other side since it’s already loosened, until she’s caged between his arms with the panel raised just above their heads. “It’s kind of like the hood to a car, but it won’t stay up by itself. I think the rod that would have held it in place got damaged or removed at some point, because obviously I didn’t find it. I’m letting go now if you’ve got it.”

“I got it.”

“Are you sure? It’s heavy.”

It’s not exactly a feather, but he’ll manage. And anyway, he’s put up with a lot worse for a lot less. He might be crammed onto a flimsy tower propped against the Dropship, but he’s pressed so close to Raven’s back that her breaths feel like his own, and despite the weight in his hands, it’s a much better view than he had down on the ground, and he makes it all even better when he tilts his head so his cheek nudges against her temple. Her movements pause for a few seconds, making him wonder if she’ll protest, but then she grabs another tool from the inside of her jacket before pulling apart a few wires and tracing them with her fingers, like this is just another job for her even though it feels like a momentous occasion for him. 

She smells like the fertile soil of the forest already, lush and green and peppery. He almost expects her to smell like the stale air of the Ark still, and though he has no way of knowing, now that he’s standing closer than he ever expected, somehow he’s sure Raven has always had an intoxicating scent even in that godforsaken place. It makes him wonder what it would have been like, to be aware of someone like her while he was growing up. He’s not the type to take a deep dive into his psyche for fear of what he'll find there, but he’s self-aware enough to know that he would have had a crush on her as a young teen. Hell, he kind of has one on her _now_ , and it started even before he could feel every shift of her ass right against his dick. He winces at a particularly jarring wiggle from Raven that rubs him just the right way. If she keeps that up, he won't be able to hide his rapidly growing arousal. 

“I thought I came here for someone,” Raven reveals, surprising him with the answer to what he’d asked a few minutes ago. He blinks a few times to try and clear his foggy head. 

“Finn,” he fills in, his brain finally catching up with the conversation. That rumour has been all over camp and he barely needed any eavesdropping skills to hear it. Not that he understands it, honestly. She could do so much better than the disloyal space-walker. 

“Guess that’s been going around,” Raven sighs, chagrined. 

Murphy notices right away that her next flick of the wrist is none-too-gentle. Yeah, he’d be testy too, if he was in her shoes. He decides not to mention any of the unflattering comments he’s heard from idiots who obviously haven’t even had a single spoken exchange with her. And he definitely shouldn’t mention how each time she’s rough with her efforts, his body reaps the benefits. Christ, maybe he’s more of a creep than he thought, getting off while she’s trying to save a bunch of people’s lives. 

“People like to gossip.”

Her mouth thins into a firm line, like she has a lot to say and is forcibly holding herself back, and he’s taken by the thought that he wouldn’t mind finding out if he could kiss her displeasure away. All he’d have to do was crane his head just a little bit more…

“Life on Earth hasn’t exactly been going the way I’d planned,” Raven mutters, pocketing a few metal pieces that he can’t quite make out, but oh yeah, he can make out the way her every squirm teases his body into some kind of waking purgatory. 

“You can say that again.” It's completely her fault his words end more on a grunt than an actual syllable.

Raven tilts her head over her shoulder to look at him, and maybe it’s the angle but he can’t read her expression. Her brown eyes are soft and warm though, and this time he can’t look away from them. After a moment she grins, looking less serious, less burdened. 

“No, from what I hear, your experience sounds like crap too.”

“So you _have_ picked up on a few things since you arrived.”

Nodding, she slips the tail end of a piece of wiring in between his thumb and index finger, untangling it as she goes. “Hold this out of my way. Yeah, I heard I should stay away from you.”

“You really listen carefully to advice, don’t you?”

A self-deprecating snort tells him what she thinks about that. He likes the sound of it. 

“I usually only listen to Sinclair. He’s my boss from Mecha and he’s earned some of my obedience. Otherwise I like to make up my own mind.”

“And what’s your mind saying about _me_?”

“I’m still deciding,” she primly informs him, and he’d snap a retort at her but then she does this thing where she sort of shimmies into him to get leverage and there’s no holding back his coarse groan because _fuck_ that feels good. 

The muffled squeak that Raven makes probably isn’t meant to be sexy, but there’s no way he can interpret it any different; not when she’s so warm and snug against him, not with his cock making its presence known in a way neither of them can ignore any longer. 

“Oh,” she whispers, her movements abruptly ceasing. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is more fun than anything else that’s happened since they strapped me into this fucking Dropship.” Yeah. Definitely more of a creep than he thought. At least where she’s concerned. 

Raven doesn’t seem to have a response, though he’s going to take it as a good sign that she hasn’t tried to step away from him, even if there isn’t really anywhere for her to go. Instead of speaking, she’s quiet and he doesn’t break the tense silence between them either. After a few moments she wipes her free hand on her thigh in a gesture that almost seems nervous, and then turns her head towards him once again, her velvety cheek brushing against his chin. 

“This piece is attached really solidly. I um, I need to use some force if I’m going to remove it. So…” She trails off, unable or unwilling to spell it out, but he already knows what she’s getting at. 

“So you need to move around while you do it, you mean.”

“Yeah.” 

This scenario is about as close to a real live fantasy as he’s ever gotten, but something about her has him weighing how he handles this. He doesn’t want to make her embarrassed or uneasy. Doesn’t want to wreck the connection he feels with her, the possibility that she doesn’t hate him yet and maybe won’t start to if he doesn't fuck things up. The strange hesitation has him fumbling for words that don’t feel familiar, and for a solution that he can’t believe he’s offering. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but having you this close is going to make that keep happening. I’m not really used to apologizing or anything, so we could just stop and take a break if you want. You could get someone else to help you with this.”

“No, no, that’s alright,” Raven mumbles, and then she shakes her head ever-so-slightly before she speaks more confidently. “It’s just a physical reaction. You can’t help it. You’d feel that way with anybody up here. We should just get this finished before the sun goes down.”

It’s what he wants to hear, for the most part. That she doesn’t want to stop. But her conclusion is wrong, and he gives in to the urge within him to say so, nuzzling his nose along her ear and the back of her neck as he ducks his head to speak quietly while she gets her wrench back in position. 

“I wouldn’t be reacting like this with just anybody, Raven.” To highlight his point, he drives his hips harder into hers, deliberately forcing his aroused cock against the swell of her ass so she can’t misinterpret him. 

Another shiver vibrates through her, although this time he knows it’s because she likes what he’s doing since he’s watching as her eyes flutter shut and a gasp has her lips parting on a sharp little inhale. No way he’s misreading _that_ reaction. 

It’s entirely unexpected. Not to mention incredibly gratifying. It makes him want to be bolder. Makes him not care about the hurt that’s bound to come, being this close to something so beautiful when it's inevitable that it will be taken from him. Like always. He probably should know by now that fire doesn't care who it burns, but he's never been able to resist playing with it anyway.

“If it’s okay with you,” he murmurs, his lips trailing over her exposed collarbone as he gives up all pretense that he’s not completely consumed with lust for her, “we could just relax and both enjoy this. You know it feels good. Look at it like a perk of the job or something, a bonus for our efforts.”

Raven breathes out a husky laugh. “You’re presenting a very good argument. But I have a boyfriend.”

“Do you though? Even if _you_ see it that way, he’s not a good boyfriend,” Murphy points out, refusing to feel guilty for telling the truth. “You deserve better than what he’s been up to.”

This time when her eyes close it’s because he’s made her think of something painful, and there’s a few pangs of regret coursing through him as he considers how he took things too far, as usual. Though for once he wants to try to make amends. But then she surprises him again when her upper body leans in towards the bolt she needs to loosen. Which positions her ass even tighter against his groin, eliciting a long, low growl from his throat as she resumes her attempts at getting the part free. 

“I _do_ deserve better, damn it.”

Fuck, does she ever. He’s not completely inexperienced, but even fully clothed and without the ability to use his hands to caress every single part of her, he’s more turned on than he ever remembers being. He’s surrounded by her, enveloped in her scent and the desire to know what her breasts feel like in his hands, how smooth the bare skin of her ass would be without any barriers between them. 

“I wish I could touch you,” he admits, rocking his body into hers as he shifts his hold on the heavy panel still in his hands, sliding his mouth as far down her neck and chest as he can reach in their awkward positions. 

“Someone will see.” Raven tilts her head back to give him more access, though she speaks words of protest. It’s probably wrong for him to enjoy the thought that he might be corrupting her, just a little. But he does like it. Likes imagining that his mouth, his touch, might make her do things she normally wouldn’t. 

He spares a glance down towards the cluttered camp, and there’s plenty of people meandering around, working while there’s still light to see. He hasn't bothered to learn all of their names, but Monroe and Harper are cleaning their guns and one of Bellamy's latest conquests is stacking firewood. Octavia and Miller are talking animatedly by the gate, and god only knows what she's trying to talk him into. Any of them could look up at any moment, and it would be obvious what Raven and Murphy are doing, since they’re so close they’re practically stuck together. Murphy nips the side of Raven’s neck with his teeth, causing her to let out a startled yelp. It’s definitely not a sound of pain, especially when it turns into a low moan as he sucks on the place he just bit. 

“Do you really care?” He already knows the answer but he asks anyway, wanting her to say it. 

“No,” Raven admits, her body straining against him, making him achingly harder as he licks a long path from the opening of her shirt and higher towards her neck, up and up until he reaches her earlobe, sucking it into his mouth greedily. 

The noises she makes in response aren’t exactly quiet, and if they didn’t have anyone else’s attention earlier, they probably do now. He doesn’t bother to look, uncaring about anything other than the way it feels to touch her, to actually _know_ how soft her skin is and what it tastes like. 

“This is really turning you on, isn’t it,” Raven sighs, doing her best to make another effort to get the piece loose. Which coincidentally is really working out well for him as a consequence.

“I could say the same to you,” Murphy grins, grinding just a little bit harder as he tries to keep his voice even. A nice little shudder from Raven is his reward and he thinks Finn must be the dumbest idiot he’s ever met. Even so, he might owe him one for his incredible stupidity, considering he gets to benefit. 

He won’t delude himself - part of Raven’s willingness has got to be in retaliation for Finn’s actions with Clarke, and he’s just the lucky guy who gets to be involved with her revenge. That’s more than fine with him, though as he nudges her ponytail out of the way with his nose so he can kiss across her shoulder blades, he also can’t deny he wants more than just a dry-humping public spectacle if she were to be up for it, even with as memorable as this is already turning out to be. 

As he flicks his tongue along the other side of her jaw, he can see the outline of her hardened nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt, and the need to touch her almost overwhelms him. The desire to try has him sliding his hands along the edge of the Dropship panel, shifting the weight of it until it’s centered in his dominant hand as he tests his grip, judging whether he can safely let go on one side even if it’s just for a few stolen moments. 

He gets his left hand free and instantly cups her breast, his thumb brushing firmly over her nipple at the same time he uses the press of his arm to yank her further into him. Her moan mingles with his and then he takes advantage of her distraction, sucking hard on the side of her neck, deliberately attempting to leave a mark. He’s going to need _something_ to remind him this wasn’t a dream, and anyway, even though she’ll never pick somebody like him for the role of replacement boyfriend, Finn should know a girl like Raven is going to have plenty of options available to her. 

“Oh, god,” Raven mumbles, her head falling back to his shoulder as more of her weight sags into his chest. 

_Oh god_ is right, the feel of her in his palm and her hips cradled against his is already addicting but he wants so much more. He drags his fingers down, over the softness of her belly and further, where he roughly shoves her jacket and shirt aside until he can grab her hip bone and use it to anchor her while he grinds low and hard against her core, intent on getting her as stimulated as he is. Murphy does it again and again until she’s weak in the knees and he’s close to it, and then he gives in to the wild demand inside him to fondle her between the legs, the heat there drawing him in like a moth to a flame even knowing it’ll be his undoing. 

Though maybe it’ll be hers too, by the sound of it. She’s loud in her pleasure, panting with it, and he wants nothing more than to get her naked and drive himself into her in one long plunge but he can’t do that, not when he doesn’t have use of both his hands but maybe he can get her off like this if he hurries. Fuck, but he wants it bad enough, even more than he wants to come himself. 

It helps that her pants are already molded to her thighs, tight in all the right places, and he’s learned what she likes all along her neck now so he takes everything up a notch. Harder. Rougher. More teeth. Less controlled and more ruthless. It works for both of them, if the fullness of his cock and the whines emerging from her throat are anything to go by. His blood pounds in his ears as he tries to remember how to breathe, how to make himself calm down before he comes too soon. His shirt is drenched with sweat but he’s never felt so determined and it’s so fucking sweet when he senses her imminent orgasm by the way her body stiffens against him. His teeth sink into her sensitive little earlobe and then fall to her neck as he grunts out encouragement and praise against her skin and then she’s there, coming with a mix of delicious little gasps and tiny tremors while he strains under the heft of the panel that he’s balancing in one arm. 

He’s close but the clothes between them may be too much of a hurdle, and he accepts that it might be unlikely he’s going to come himself. He’s shockingly okay with that conclusion, ridiculously satisfied with the knowledge that he’s pushed her over the edge even under some tough circumstances. He gives her breast a last caress before he lifts his free arm to the panel once more, redistributing the weight between both hands. The task is a welcome diversion from his aching cock, but he’s underestimated the complicated woman he’s still caught against because she spins between his arms until she’s facing him, the wrench in her hand gone who-knows-where. She doesn’t give him time to say a word before her lips land on his temple, slipping slowly down until her hot breath wafts over his ear and then her tongue darts out to trace the curve of it, meandering down again until he can feel the edges of her teeth as they graze his jaw. At the same time her hand strokes over the stiff length of him over his pants. 

Murphy groans then, unable to do anything else but stand there and let her, pinching his eyes shut in absolute bliss when he feels her tug at his belt, only to snap them wide open in torment a second later when her scorching fingers dive beneath his pants to wrap around his shaft and she starts to squeeze. 

“ _Fuck_ , Raven…” he whimpers, though he can’t say more due to her free hand lifting to cover his mouth. His eyes meet hers, helpless, and he wonders what she can read in his, considering he’s burning up from the inside and she’s the cause of it. 

“Shhh, they’ve already gotten enough of a show,” she says, her eyes flicking to the side and down, presumably to the people on the ground. 

He can’t be bothered to peek even though he’s curious about who might be watching, can only focus on her as she glides her hand up and down his dick, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. It feels hotter with their gazes locked, both of them clothed with her hands in his pants and sealed over his mouth while he can’t touch her and can’t drop the burden he’s holding onto. She hasn’t warned him to be careful, and the unspoken trust she’s giving him - trusting he won’t let go, won’t let her get hurt - works him up just as much as her talented fingers do. It isn’t long before everything inside him tightens and coils and then he’s spilling himself into her hand, his back arching and her name on his tongue though she’ll never hear since the sound of it is muffled against her palm. 

She’s wrung him out, emptied him in more ways than one, and still he finds it thrilling when she removes her hand from his lips and reaches into her jacket, pulling out a crumpled piece of cloth that she wipes her fingers on before gently cleaning him with it too. His mouth goes dry when she doesn’t seem to give it any thought, balling it back up like it was no big deal that his come was going to dry inside her pocket. 

Raven turns around again, picking up her wrench from the shallow opening they’ve uncovered in the side of the Dropship before she looks over her shoulder at him, her gaze appraising as he tugs his pants back into place. “You can lower that down now.”

The order puzzles him since he hadn’t seen her get the previously wedged-in part loose, not to mention he’s both in awe of her ability to switch gears so quickly as well as a little dismayed by it. He’s never expected anything after sex before, but with her he feels...like he’s got some kind of unfulfilled longing. Ridiculous. He swallows thickly, determined to suck it up and match her attitude. 

“Did you already get everything you needed?” 

It’s not until after he says it that he realizes that sort of question has multiple meanings, considering what they’ve just been doing, but it’s obvious Raven is amused by it, her eyes laughing up at him. 

“If you mean the bits for the radio, I got that last one off right before you made me come.” 

He fumbles the edge of the panel at that confession, but who the hell can blame him? He almost can’t stand to look at her, his hands itching with the urge to tangle in her hair, to pull those lush lips against his and crush her against the metal overlay of this fucking rocket while he peels every stitch of clothing right off her… Fuck, his dick is actually stirring already with the dangerous trajectory of his thoughts. He forces his expression into something neutral right along with his fantasies, knowing that what just happened was sheer dumb luck on his part, and isn’t likely to ever happen again. What could she possibly want with someone like him?

Murphy doesn’t know what to do with his arms now that he can use them again, now that things seem...done between them, and from the way they tingle and burn with more than simple pins and needles, he knows he’ll be sore tomorrow. Not that there will be any regret for it, though he would give quite a lot to know whether she feels the same. There’s no point in asking her, not when everything about Raven puts her so far out of his league he might enjoy the joke if it didn’t also send a sharp pang to his chest. 

“Thanks for your extra hands, Murphy.” 

There’s a teasing lilt to her voice when she speaks, and he can’t help it, his fingertips lift to skim her waist, trailing after her as she takes a half-step closer to the uneven ladder. A half-step away from him. 

“You’re welcome.”

Is he imagining it, or does her gaze drop to his mouth for a few drawn-out counts of his wretched thudding heartbeats?

He can’t be sure, but then Raven’s moving again to put her foot on the rung of the ladder and he narrows his eyes in concern, not trusting the damn thing even if it did stay together when he climbed up. He kneels down, grabbing the top of the ladder in both fists to hold it steady, and as she descends another few rungs, their height aligns and she smiles at him again, bright and sunny and almost impossible for him to believe that she could ever aim something so lovely in his direction. But it _is_ for him - there’s no one else here - and he drinks it in, drinks _her_ in as he tries his best to memorize her face in this moment, the way her smile somehow makes him feel happy too. And then she does something he never would have guessed, shows him that he’s underestimated her once again when she surges forward and kisses him for real, her lips firm but soft against his own. It’s over far too soon, though he’s starting to understand that she could kiss him forever and it might not be enough, and then she’s disappearing below him, making her way down the ladder more recklessly than he would like. 

He straightens, watching her cut across the worn dirt of the camp, away from him and towards the main tent, wondering what she saw when she looked at him just now - whether she’d deem him a useful scrap part, or if she’d slide him into her waistband for keeps like her precious wrench or worse, if she’d discard him without a second glance. Better not to think about it, honestly, and just savor what he’d so astonishingly been given. People like her and people like him aren't supposed to mix, and there’s reasons for that. The sooner he remembers that truth, the better off he’ll be. Still, he keeps his eyes trained on her until she disappears from view. 

When he gets past the last few rungs of the ladder without a deadly incident, he takes a deep breath, knowing the unlikely utopia he’s been existing in for the last however-long moments with Raven is over. And as if to mock him while also proving him right, the turned heads and chatter from multiple sides of the camp follow him, the sound lingering as he strides towards his tent, though now it bothers him a lot less than it did earlier. 

* * *

Mbege brought him dinner again, and this time Murphy decides not to be an ass, making conversation on his own without stonewalling, though he shuts the subject of Raven down immediately when Mbege cautiously brings her up. Gossip was running rampant through the remaining camp survivors regardless of whether he confirmed or denied anything, and he doesn’t want to examine it too closely, but already he knows that even though probably more than a handful of people witnessed some or all of what they did to each other, he wants to keep his private thoughts his own. 

He’s not especially tired when he ducks back into his tent, but there’s a lot going on in his head, and for once he doesn’t want to shove it down and bottle it up, wants to examine it until he knows what he’ll do, not only about this afternoon with Raven but about the whole disaster of Charlotte and his banishment-turned-unbanishment and whatever it was that Clarke and Bellamy were going to come up with for him instead. 

There’s a disappointing lack of conclusions and solid plans in his head when his thoughts are interrupted hours later, probably some time after midnight, when a hushed voice calls out his name from just outside his tent flaps. He rolls over onto his stomach to see if he can steal a glance in the gap where the tarp doesn’t meet the dirt and unless his eyes are playing tricks on him - which honestly is a possibility - it’s Raven calling out to him. 

He scrambles to his knees, running a hand through his hair before he frantically straightens his shirt, hoping like hell that he looks presentable in spite of well...everything about himself. Pulling back a flap to look at her, he stares in disbelief that she's sought him out, the camp quiet although there are still some fires going in the main areas, casting flickering shadows onto the packed dirt and tent silhouettes. 

She looks perfect, of course. Like she has since the moment he first saw her walk through the gates. And because he wants so badly to know if it’s there, his eyes go right to the side of her neck, searching for a bruise. He can just make it out with the starlight that filters through the trees. Yeah, the things they did actually happened. Crazy.

“I’ve made up my mind about you.”

Raven had his attention as soon as he knew it was her calling his name of course, and probably always would whenever she appeared within his sight, but that statement in particular coming out of her mouth has his stomach clenching with nerves. 

“And what did you decide?” he manages to sputter out. 

“How about you invite me in and I’ll tell you.”

Damn, she’s something else. He thought he was pretty good at dissecting people, at knowing their motivations, but Raven is different. Special. He can't figure her out.

Murphy gestures with his palm at the small tent space surrounding him, hazy with uncertainty because he might still be asleep and in the middle of a dream with a _lot_ of potential. 

“I don’t have much room.” Not exactly an apology, but he does wish he could offer her better, even if he is imagining this latest scenario. 

“Don’t worry,” Raven reassures him, her eyes sparkling, “Something tells me that’s gonna work out pretty well for us.”

He takes in her growing smirk, pushing the tent fabric back farther for her, and when she curls her fingers into the front of his shirt after she crawls into the tent beside him, that’s when he knows he’s not dreaming. She’s not gentle as she jerks him forward, her mouth insistent on his as they kneel in his pile of warm blankets, both of them desperate to get closer. 

Murphy’s not as smart as she is - is anyone? - but he knows how to read a room. For whatever reason, Raven wants him, and he may not be special like her, but he’s not so dumb as to pass up this chance she’s giving him either. Maybe she just wants tonight and they’ll burn away to ash by the time the sun comes up. Or maybe she’s taking her revenge against Finn as far as she can and she’s just using him in the process. Or maybe, and against all odds, she actually might like him a little even though he _is_ kind of a creep. He doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing with him, what the hell she's thinking, but if she wants him around a minute longer, a day, a week...the reasons don’t matter. Whatever makes her happy. 

Whatever she wants. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this one! Yes, yes, you're right - once again I put Murphy up in a tree (kinda). Apparently it's a thing for me at this point....HE LIKES TO BE UP HIGH, OKAY?! And in case you're wondering, yep, the rusty, precarious scaffolding that Raven & Murphy get busy on is absolutely a parallel for their relationship in this story. Looks like a disaster waiting to happen but turns out it's surprisingly sturdy. Thanks for noticing I like to add a deeper meaning to my smut! LOL! And, which of you were paying attention & noticed the awesome misspelling in the moodboard that is SOOOOOO S1 John Murphy?!  
> As always, comments & kudos much appreciated & thanks for reading!


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